Anton remembered the shadows beneath the boat looked
like an ink spill in the water. Tenebrous tendrils
cajoled darting little fish into the gloom, luring
them with the promise of safety from oceanic
predators in their midst. The water churned as a
school of silver fish swam past him. He watched as
they wove in and out of the shifting light, before
vanishing into the murky swirling shadow.
It was too easy to lose your senses; your sense of time, your sense of direction, your sense of danger, in the vast body of water. The pageantry of fish
amused Anton like few other things. They were fast
moving patches of color, or fragile glints of silver propelled effortlessly through the depth. He lingered just out of the reach of the boats intimidating eclipse and watched until the last twinkle disappeared.
A sudden realization shook him from his reverie. The water was empty . Smaller fish had departed at once, and even large throngs of the silver fish had thinned out. Anton saw something stirring in the gloom. A mackerel. A trout. Hell a Barracuda. He didn’t give a shit what, so long as it was not a-
His mind did not have the chance to dread the
possibility. With all the seeming of a monster, it slid from it‘s hiding place.
There is a misconception about sharks and shark attacks. People believe that JAWS bursts out of the black, mouth open, and swallows it’s victims whole. Death is instantaneous. But the first bite is far more likely to wound than to kill. The mark almost never sees it coming.
Anton saw her for an instant, a single second that
seemed far longer than it should. The doctors said the shark must have been moving very fast, but she didn’t appear to move at all, rather she seemed to float towards him. Anton likened the sound to the start of an engine, but anyone who hasn’t heard the water roaring could possibly imagine what it is like.
Suspended in space, it’s image grew, and Anton
watched it’s eyes. “They won’t ever know the way it smiles,” he thought.
The teeth are so sharp you can’t feel the bite. If it wasn’t for the bump and the red, you wouldn’t know you’d been bitten at all. Anton felt the hard bump before he was engulfed in a cloud of his own blood.
As she clamped her jaws around him, Anton was already being pulled upward. The last sight he recalled was the shark vanishing like a ghost into the open ocean.
The ocean vanished as Anton’s eyes jerked open. He’d felt the pressure on his chest, a tight tearing sensation. It haunted him in the remnants of his nightmare. In his subconscious he loathed the white of the ceiling. It reminded him of the hull of the boat, the belly of the shark, anything and everything that terrified him.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Brownie Crumbs
Samantha sat on the floor solemnly recalling the long summer nights of childhood- The time when lightning bugs were fairy lights and the cool heavy evening cradled the promise of adventures yet to be had. Those nights were not so long ago. Looking out her window she could see herself playing beneath the spindly branches of Iverson’s tree… waiting for it to be her turn to tumble down the rabbit hole. She had waited, and the years passed in faithful progression. Somewhere along the way, Sam had grown up.
Her thirteenth birthday snuck up on her, tapping her on the shoulder just as summer ended. Samantha’s mother had decided that thirteen was simply too old for fairytales and baby toys. She adamantly insisted that Sam simply grow up, and when the time came, it was her mother who decided to pack up her old things and cart them off too charity. Sam was getting new furniture, new books, new pictures, - the whole package. Looking out on the sidewalk, Sam wondered how those nights of magic slipped through her fingers. Without them, she was lost.
“Sam? “ Her mother‘s voice intruded upon Sam‘s peaceful remembrance. Sam watched her mother’s reflection in the polished window glass. She was a tiny woman, thin, nothing so extraordinary about her. Sam knew that she too was following in her mother’s footsteps. “Did you get into your birthday cake?”
Her mother shifted her weight and leaned into the doorframe. That pose signaled that her mother was becoming impatient. It would be in her best interest to answer. “No mother,” Sam groaned.“Are you sure? I found little nibble holes all over it…” Sam didn’t budge. “Crumbs too.”
“I told you I didn’t get into the cake. Maybe Jonathon was digging in it.” The suggestion was enough to quell her. Things like that were frequent occurrences in their household. Jon couldn’t keep his grubby paws off anything. He’d sneak little bites out of the pan when he thought no one was looking, or creep into the cupboards and eat the cake mix raw. That’s why he was so fat. He was a thief too. Samantha added to the growing list of Jonathon’s flaws, all the while knowing she resented him for no good reason. Sam could hear the house readying itself for bed. Jonathon bolted up the stairs, leaving a trail of heavy thudding footsteps in his wake. Downstairs Grandma would be getting cozy in the guest room, and her mother and father would be turning down their sheets.Sam spun herself around on her bed, feeling its familiar give for the last time. The emptiness in the room was creeping like a low, rolling fog. Only the dollhouse, sitting stoically in the corner, remained untouched. It had taken a bit of wrangling to convince her mother to let her keep it, and the only reason she’d relented was that Sam had told her she wished to pass it on one day. Thinking of the dollhouse made Sam want to go and play with it. Sam hopped to her feet, and as soon as they met carpet, Sam yelped.
“Ow!” She held her foot and hopped, trying to massage the pain away. “What the heck did I step on?” she whispered to herself.Sam dropped to all fours, near the edge of her bed, running her fingers through the carpet pile, hoping to dredge up whatever item had assaulted her. Her exertions produced results, tilling up a tiny doll shoe. She’d taken out her dolls that morning and admired them with fondness, gushing over their perfect plastic beauty. The little shoe must have come off, lain there all day, sleeping away the chaos nestled safely in the beige fibers. She slid it into her pocket, where it found company amongst forgotten pennies and candy wrappers. The shoe was not to be remembered until Sam had brushed her teeth, and prepared to put on her pajamas. Her slender fingers excavated the little shoe, holding it up to the light. It looked strange; soft, and made of leather, with little metal eyelets for the laces. Setting the shoe on the table, Sam clicked off the light, sliding under her covers and pulling her blankets to her chin.Finding her way to sleep was difficult. It seemed that no sooner than her eyes had closed did she hear a noise coming from the nightstand table. A rustling sound, like someone was stirring up quite a commotion. She’d open her eyes and see her room as she had left it, the little shoe lying on her bedside table. The clock was flashing midnight when Sam closed her eyes for what she resolved would be the final time that evening. The noise came again, the persistent sound of rustling. Her eyes opened, just a slit, not enough to tell anyone that she was still awake.
Sam spied a tiny but distinct silhouette on her bedside table. It was no bigger than the span of her fingers. Perhaps the shadow, Sam reasoned, was caused by the slender swan lamp, or a stray leaf clinging to the window.
But it wasn’t the shadow of the lamp, or a stray leaf. The silhouette moved with certainty and haste. First, it darted from the lamp, taking cover behind the bulbous aluminum alarm clock, before creeping for the shoe.
Sam suddenly felt powerful. The tiny thing believed she was asleep, and she waited patiently for it to retrieve its quarry. It plucked the shoe from its resting place, fiddling for a moment with the eyelets. This was the instant, Sam thought. She sprang on it, trying to capture it as one would do a firefly, both hands cupped tightly together. It was faster than Sam had anticipated.
In the blink of an eye, it was gone. The only evidence of its passing was a single thread of yarn dangling from the table.
It had to have gone somewhere. Sam inspected the dollhouse, and found it empty. She looked behind the shelves, in her shoes, and in her closet but the tiny figure was nowhere to be found.
Sam whirled around in time to see the left panel of her curtain billow. On a breezeless night, the movement of a curtain was something to take notice of. Her imagination danced, filled with tales of hidden kingdoms and ghost ships. Perhaps it was not too late for Sam to fall down the rabbit hole.
Sam thrust the curtains open and let the moonlight fill the room. It was a full, white moon that loomed giant in the sky and it lit the room as if it were twilight.
In the moonlight’s inconstant glow, the room began to blossom with patches of chalky blue luminescence. Sam could see the places were tiny feet had trod, the tables were they had danced, and the matted patches of carpet where they had played their games.
With each breath, another patch of light blinked on, like a pastel Christmas bulb on a tree. Samantha held her breath, waiting to see the ghostly illumination highlight the footsteps on her nightstand.
Sure enough, the blue embers brought the creature’s path to light. It climbed the side of the table, crouched behind her lamp, made for the shoe, and…. Sam dropped to the ground watching each footstep blink on.
The footprints slid down again, before meandering through the carpet pile and disappearing beneath Sam’s dust ruffle.
Sam waited, perched on the edge of her bed, wondering if she really wanted to know. By morning, the light would fade and consume the magic brought to life by the beams of the giant moon. The more she thought, the more she had to know. It was like a maddening itch in the corners of her mind. Before she knew it, she was on her knees gripping the cheap pink fabric of the dust ruffle.
Lifting the dust ruffle, she peered into the darkness. The white light began to creep below the bed, and the objects began to glow with the faint blue light.
Sam was amazed. There was a village resting in the quiet place beneath her bed. It was built of shoeboxes, thimbles, and all the nonsense that lays about a house. They were the thieves who stole her Grandmother’s embroidery and used her fine stitching to sew gowns for the ladies. Jonathon’s baseball glove was now a jungle gym for tiny little people.
They were all so lovely- with skin made of moonlight and white hair that glimmered like spun silk.
The women wore long flowing dresses made of Grandma’s dainty stitching, and the gentlemen were dressed in tiny breeches. Some wore vests made from scraps of felt.
She wanted to touch one, just one, but they cringed from her hands in fear. Sam cooed, whispering delicate reassurances.
Soon they had warmed to her. Sam caressed their skin, braided their silky hair, and enticed them to play in her dollhouse. The dollhouse was a perfect fit, and the tiny beings took to it naturally. Sam looked on as they strolled from room to room, greeting one another with a curtsy or a bow.
Midnight stretched on for eternity as they waltzed in her hair and swung on her toes, but the night of revelry was taking its toll.
Sam knew she had fallen asleep when she heard the sound of Jon thumping his way down the stairs for breakfast. Morning light was streaming through the window, as Sam forced her eyelids open. The white garbage bags were missing, and her comfortable old bed was disassembled as she slept. What remained stood in a forest of tall metal poles, resting against the far wall.
Sam didn’t notice the dollhouse still sitting open in the far corner of her room. When it struck her she crawled over to sit beside it, and inside the house Sam spied the glint of something shiny. It beckoned her as she extended her hand into the tiny, well-furnished room.
Her fingers clamped down, and Sam held her breathe. In her hand was the little shoe, with its soft brown leather, metal eyelets, and delicate precise stitching.
The little shoe was slid once again into Sam’s pocket, where it would lay in the folds of denim. Sam celebrated her thirteenth birthday with Jon, her mother, and the rest of her family. When Sam blew out her birthday candles, she clutched the shoe, and made her wish. With her eyes closed tight, she wished for an eternal summer, where the lightning bugs would always be fairy lights and the evenings would hold the promise of adventure. The summer continued to ebb, eventually yielding to the yellow and red hues of fall.
The little shoe was tucked away inside the dollhouse, which in turn was tucked away inside the closet, hidden away with a hundred other forgotten things.
It slept there even as Sam’s hair turned from the color of tepid dishwater, to a deep radiant auburn, and finally into a resigned shade of gray. She rediscovered it by chance while in the attic. Absent-mindedly she thrust it from its hiding place, and knew it by its dusty white flank.
A rush of exhilaration overcame her. Carefully she lowered herself to the ground before the little house. Its panels seemed as old and worn as she herself was. Had it been that long? Sam pried open the house, and listened as the hinges squealed in protestation.
Inside, sat the little shoe, exactly as she remembered it. Its soft brown leather conjured up memories of the night she had danced with the little people, and the day she had wished for an eternal summer.
There are reasons why some wishes go unfulfilled. Sam looked around at the family portraits, a collection which had grown too large for the walls to accommodate. There had been much magic in her life since that day, but none of it had come from fairytales. Reluctantly Sam restored the shoe to its resting place inside the dollhouse. One day, its rightful owner might come to claim it. Perhaps then, she could chat with them, and tell them all the things that had happened in their absence.
Wearily she pushed herself to her feet, her bones popping loudly in the joints. She trudged to the door, flipping the light switch, and the room blinked into darkness.
The dusty attic curtain billowed as the silver moon emerged from its hiding place. Sam smiled as the first fragile rays crept into the room. As quickly as she could Sam crept into the hallway and shut the door behind her. Sometimes it is better not to know, she thought as she tiptoed down the steps, leaving the dollhouse and the little shoe in darkness.
Her thirteenth birthday snuck up on her, tapping her on the shoulder just as summer ended. Samantha’s mother had decided that thirteen was simply too old for fairytales and baby toys. She adamantly insisted that Sam simply grow up, and when the time came, it was her mother who decided to pack up her old things and cart them off too charity. Sam was getting new furniture, new books, new pictures, - the whole package. Looking out on the sidewalk, Sam wondered how those nights of magic slipped through her fingers. Without them, she was lost.
“Sam? “ Her mother‘s voice intruded upon Sam‘s peaceful remembrance. Sam watched her mother’s reflection in the polished window glass. She was a tiny woman, thin, nothing so extraordinary about her. Sam knew that she too was following in her mother’s footsteps. “Did you get into your birthday cake?”
Her mother shifted her weight and leaned into the doorframe. That pose signaled that her mother was becoming impatient. It would be in her best interest to answer. “No mother,” Sam groaned.“Are you sure? I found little nibble holes all over it…” Sam didn’t budge. “Crumbs too.”
“I told you I didn’t get into the cake. Maybe Jonathon was digging in it.” The suggestion was enough to quell her. Things like that were frequent occurrences in their household. Jon couldn’t keep his grubby paws off anything. He’d sneak little bites out of the pan when he thought no one was looking, or creep into the cupboards and eat the cake mix raw. That’s why he was so fat. He was a thief too. Samantha added to the growing list of Jonathon’s flaws, all the while knowing she resented him for no good reason. Sam could hear the house readying itself for bed. Jonathon bolted up the stairs, leaving a trail of heavy thudding footsteps in his wake. Downstairs Grandma would be getting cozy in the guest room, and her mother and father would be turning down their sheets.Sam spun herself around on her bed, feeling its familiar give for the last time. The emptiness in the room was creeping like a low, rolling fog. Only the dollhouse, sitting stoically in the corner, remained untouched. It had taken a bit of wrangling to convince her mother to let her keep it, and the only reason she’d relented was that Sam had told her she wished to pass it on one day. Thinking of the dollhouse made Sam want to go and play with it. Sam hopped to her feet, and as soon as they met carpet, Sam yelped.
“Ow!” She held her foot and hopped, trying to massage the pain away. “What the heck did I step on?” she whispered to herself.Sam dropped to all fours, near the edge of her bed, running her fingers through the carpet pile, hoping to dredge up whatever item had assaulted her. Her exertions produced results, tilling up a tiny doll shoe. She’d taken out her dolls that morning and admired them with fondness, gushing over their perfect plastic beauty. The little shoe must have come off, lain there all day, sleeping away the chaos nestled safely in the beige fibers. She slid it into her pocket, where it found company amongst forgotten pennies and candy wrappers. The shoe was not to be remembered until Sam had brushed her teeth, and prepared to put on her pajamas. Her slender fingers excavated the little shoe, holding it up to the light. It looked strange; soft, and made of leather, with little metal eyelets for the laces. Setting the shoe on the table, Sam clicked off the light, sliding under her covers and pulling her blankets to her chin.Finding her way to sleep was difficult. It seemed that no sooner than her eyes had closed did she hear a noise coming from the nightstand table. A rustling sound, like someone was stirring up quite a commotion. She’d open her eyes and see her room as she had left it, the little shoe lying on her bedside table. The clock was flashing midnight when Sam closed her eyes for what she resolved would be the final time that evening. The noise came again, the persistent sound of rustling. Her eyes opened, just a slit, not enough to tell anyone that she was still awake.
Sam spied a tiny but distinct silhouette on her bedside table. It was no bigger than the span of her fingers. Perhaps the shadow, Sam reasoned, was caused by the slender swan lamp, or a stray leaf clinging to the window.
But it wasn’t the shadow of the lamp, or a stray leaf. The silhouette moved with certainty and haste. First, it darted from the lamp, taking cover behind the bulbous aluminum alarm clock, before creeping for the shoe.
Sam suddenly felt powerful. The tiny thing believed she was asleep, and she waited patiently for it to retrieve its quarry. It plucked the shoe from its resting place, fiddling for a moment with the eyelets. This was the instant, Sam thought. She sprang on it, trying to capture it as one would do a firefly, both hands cupped tightly together. It was faster than Sam had anticipated.
In the blink of an eye, it was gone. The only evidence of its passing was a single thread of yarn dangling from the table.
It had to have gone somewhere. Sam inspected the dollhouse, and found it empty. She looked behind the shelves, in her shoes, and in her closet but the tiny figure was nowhere to be found.
Sam whirled around in time to see the left panel of her curtain billow. On a breezeless night, the movement of a curtain was something to take notice of. Her imagination danced, filled with tales of hidden kingdoms and ghost ships. Perhaps it was not too late for Sam to fall down the rabbit hole.
Sam thrust the curtains open and let the moonlight fill the room. It was a full, white moon that loomed giant in the sky and it lit the room as if it were twilight.
In the moonlight’s inconstant glow, the room began to blossom with patches of chalky blue luminescence. Sam could see the places were tiny feet had trod, the tables were they had danced, and the matted patches of carpet where they had played their games.
With each breath, another patch of light blinked on, like a pastel Christmas bulb on a tree. Samantha held her breath, waiting to see the ghostly illumination highlight the footsteps on her nightstand.
Sure enough, the blue embers brought the creature’s path to light. It climbed the side of the table, crouched behind her lamp, made for the shoe, and…. Sam dropped to the ground watching each footstep blink on.
The footprints slid down again, before meandering through the carpet pile and disappearing beneath Sam’s dust ruffle.
Sam waited, perched on the edge of her bed, wondering if she really wanted to know. By morning, the light would fade and consume the magic brought to life by the beams of the giant moon. The more she thought, the more she had to know. It was like a maddening itch in the corners of her mind. Before she knew it, she was on her knees gripping the cheap pink fabric of the dust ruffle.
Lifting the dust ruffle, she peered into the darkness. The white light began to creep below the bed, and the objects began to glow with the faint blue light.
Sam was amazed. There was a village resting in the quiet place beneath her bed. It was built of shoeboxes, thimbles, and all the nonsense that lays about a house. They were the thieves who stole her Grandmother’s embroidery and used her fine stitching to sew gowns for the ladies. Jonathon’s baseball glove was now a jungle gym for tiny little people.
They were all so lovely- with skin made of moonlight and white hair that glimmered like spun silk.
The women wore long flowing dresses made of Grandma’s dainty stitching, and the gentlemen were dressed in tiny breeches. Some wore vests made from scraps of felt.
She wanted to touch one, just one, but they cringed from her hands in fear. Sam cooed, whispering delicate reassurances.
Soon they had warmed to her. Sam caressed their skin, braided their silky hair, and enticed them to play in her dollhouse. The dollhouse was a perfect fit, and the tiny beings took to it naturally. Sam looked on as they strolled from room to room, greeting one another with a curtsy or a bow.
Midnight stretched on for eternity as they waltzed in her hair and swung on her toes, but the night of revelry was taking its toll.
Sam knew she had fallen asleep when she heard the sound of Jon thumping his way down the stairs for breakfast. Morning light was streaming through the window, as Sam forced her eyelids open. The white garbage bags were missing, and her comfortable old bed was disassembled as she slept. What remained stood in a forest of tall metal poles, resting against the far wall.
Sam didn’t notice the dollhouse still sitting open in the far corner of her room. When it struck her she crawled over to sit beside it, and inside the house Sam spied the glint of something shiny. It beckoned her as she extended her hand into the tiny, well-furnished room.
Her fingers clamped down, and Sam held her breathe. In her hand was the little shoe, with its soft brown leather, metal eyelets, and delicate precise stitching.
The little shoe was slid once again into Sam’s pocket, where it would lay in the folds of denim. Sam celebrated her thirteenth birthday with Jon, her mother, and the rest of her family. When Sam blew out her birthday candles, she clutched the shoe, and made her wish. With her eyes closed tight, she wished for an eternal summer, where the lightning bugs would always be fairy lights and the evenings would hold the promise of adventure. The summer continued to ebb, eventually yielding to the yellow and red hues of fall.
The little shoe was tucked away inside the dollhouse, which in turn was tucked away inside the closet, hidden away with a hundred other forgotten things.
It slept there even as Sam’s hair turned from the color of tepid dishwater, to a deep radiant auburn, and finally into a resigned shade of gray. She rediscovered it by chance while in the attic. Absent-mindedly she thrust it from its hiding place, and knew it by its dusty white flank.
A rush of exhilaration overcame her. Carefully she lowered herself to the ground before the little house. Its panels seemed as old and worn as she herself was. Had it been that long? Sam pried open the house, and listened as the hinges squealed in protestation.
Inside, sat the little shoe, exactly as she remembered it. Its soft brown leather conjured up memories of the night she had danced with the little people, and the day she had wished for an eternal summer.
There are reasons why some wishes go unfulfilled. Sam looked around at the family portraits, a collection which had grown too large for the walls to accommodate. There had been much magic in her life since that day, but none of it had come from fairytales. Reluctantly Sam restored the shoe to its resting place inside the dollhouse. One day, its rightful owner might come to claim it. Perhaps then, she could chat with them, and tell them all the things that had happened in their absence.
Wearily she pushed herself to her feet, her bones popping loudly in the joints. She trudged to the door, flipping the light switch, and the room blinked into darkness.
The dusty attic curtain billowed as the silver moon emerged from its hiding place. Sam smiled as the first fragile rays crept into the room. As quickly as she could Sam crept into the hallway and shut the door behind her. Sometimes it is better not to know, she thought as she tiptoed down the steps, leaving the dollhouse and the little shoe in darkness.
The First Post- Stingy Jack
(Stingy Jack is not an original story in a pure sense. The Legend of Stingy Jack comes from Irish folk lore and superstition. I wrote it wrote it for a Halloween writing contest, and it won 2nd place. I was intrigued by the story because it contains so many universal ideas, and yet I never saw a complete version. It existed in bits and pieces, but it was never fully fleshed out. I wrote the legend as a short story, and added much detail to it. This is before the story was edited, so it is technically a first draft. I hope you enjoy.)
Stingy Jack
The traditional carving of the jack-o-lantern has its roots in a very dark tale from Irish lore about a man named Stingy Jack, who dared to drink with the devil and gambled his soul on the sharpness of his wits. Jack’s story begins on a dark and cold evening in rural Ireland when the moon was high and yellow. Stingy Jack, as he was called, was a horrid man; a drunkard, a liar, and a miser who took especial delight in separating the dull witted from their belongings. Travelers who had crossed paths with Jack recalled their encounters and it was not long before word of Jack’s ill-repute spread far and wide, falling upon the ears of the Devil himself. The Devil listened with keen interest to the stories about Jack, the man reputed to have a silver tongue to rival the Devil himself. It is not a wise thing to deal with the Devil, and in the Devil’s infinite conceit he was certain he had no rival; not on Earth or in Heaven. It was in this fashion that the Devil resolved to seek out Jack, and lay to rest the tales. One cold evening, with the crisp chill of autumn in the air, Stingy Jack went wandering through the night and on his usual path, he stumbled across a most unusual character. Standing bent and crooked in the road, he saw the devil wearing a mocking grin across his face. Jack called out to the figure and was answered by silence and the glint of the Devil’s gnarled smirk. To Jack it was no surprise to see the Devil, as he knew it was just a mere matter of time before he came to claim Jack’s soul and drag him into hell. Therefore, Jack, believing his final hours were upon him, set his mind to thinking. “Devil,” Stingy Jack called out, “the sight of you surely marks my last night. I’d hoped I might have one last drink… won’t you share a drink with me before we get on our way?” The Devil scratched his chin. He could find no reason to deny Stingy Jack his request so the Devil accepted Jack’s invitation, delighted at the opportunity to see Jack in action. So the two drank that night until both could scarcely hold themselves upright, and just before the sun rose Stingy Jack decided the evening of revelry had come to an end as he unsteadily rose to his feet and turned for home. The Devil stopped Jack before he took a single step. The matter of the evening’s tab was yet unresolved. Jack pleaded poverty with the Devil, insisting that he could not pay the bar keep because he hadn’t a single silver coin to his name. The Devil was unmoved by Jack’s plight and he refused to pay the barkeep since it was indeed Jack who had invited him to drink. Jack eyed the Devil and in conspiratorial tones laid out his suggestion for a happy compromise. The Devil, Jack said, could turn himself into a silver coin and Jack would use that coin to pay the bar keep. Once the barkeep had drifted off to sleep the Devil, could then change back into his true form and leave the slumbering bar tender none the wiser. As Jack explained his plan, the Devil laughed, and happily agreed to Jack’s proposal, transforming himself into a solid silver coin. True to his name and still fearing the Devil had come to take him to Hell, Jack enacted the second segment of his plan. With a smile and a chuckle, he plunged the silver coin into his pocket beside an ornate crucifix. Enraged that Jack had tricked him the Devil attempted to change his form, but found that he could not so long as Jack kept him bound with the crucifix.As Jack merrily skipped for home, he sang a song of how he had tricked the Devil and escaped the clutches of damnation. Some time passed before Jack opted to strike another deal with the Devil in his pocket. Jack promised to free the Devil only, if the Devil promised not to trouble him for a year and swear that should Jack die, he would not claim his soul. The Devil agreed and Jack tossed the coin high into the air where it vanished into nothingness. That year was Stingy Jack’s best, for he knew that he could not suffer in Hell for any of his deeds. In fact, he had such a wonderful time that Jack scarcely noticed the passing of an entire year. One night he went off wondering down his usual path, and again he came across the unusual figure standing in the very spot were he stood the night of their first meeting.The sight of the Devil struck terror in Jack. The year had been spent in a drunken daze and he had not been aware that his contract was about to expire. Jack thought quickly. “I know why you’re here,” Jack called out, “I’d be happy to oblige you if you would only grant a dying man one last request.” The Devil spoke not a word; he simply stood in the moon light and smiled. “Would you climb up that tree and fetch me one of those juicy fruit from the top branches. I would, but I’m just an old man.” For a moment the two stood frozen in the middle of the winding dirt road. Jack did not dare to move until the Devil flashed his grin and nodded to Jack. Happily, the Devil scuttled up the tree trunk and slithered through the branches to the top, where the most tantalizing fruit dangled. With ease, he plucked the ripest, most delicious fruit from the highest limb. His eyes scanned the road and he saw that Jack was nowhere to be seen. Quickly he moved to slip through the branches and down the trunk but the Devil foudn that he could not pass. Upon seeing the Devil’s predicament Jack leapt from the bushes exclaiming that he had carved a cross on the base of the tree! Stingy Jack erupted in wild laughter at the foolishness of the Devil for having been tricked in such a manner yet again. The Devil merely smiled, his eyes leering at Jack from the shadows. “Say Devil, I will release you, but you must promise to trouble me no more for a time of 10 years,” Jack was laughing so hard he could scarcely form the words. “And you must agree that upon my death you will not claim my soul!” The Devil, with his ferocious smile, agreed to Jack’s terms with a bemused chuckle. He would trouble Jack no more, for the time of 10 years, and when Jack died, the Devil would not take his soul to Hell. In life, Jack did not see the Devil again, for he passed away no more then 7 years after he had trapped the Devil in the tree. Drunkenness had lured Jack to an early grave, but when he passed, it is said he died with a small smile at the corners of his mouth. Jack died confident that his place in Heaven was assured, since the Devil had sworn he would not claim him. Heaven, however, would never admit such an unsavory character. Jack’s wicked soul was cast down to Earth, destined never to look upon Heaven again. Bewildered, Jack looked around, and on his usual path he saw a figure proudly displaying his familiar smile. Jack had beaten the Devil, and yet there he was in the middle of the road. The Devil raised his hand forbidding Jack to speak. The Devil’s head drooped with shame, as he confessed that Jack had tricked him and he indeed would not claim his soul, but…not even the Devil himself could match Stingy Jack’s miserly ways and so the Devil offered Jack a gift; a single ember, said to be a spark of Hell’s flames, to light his way through the frigid eternal darkness. With that, the Devil disappeared, and troubled Jack no more. Stingy Jack clutched at the ember burning hot in his spectral palm. The winds blew strong and the ghost flame began to fade. If the spark were to fade, then there would be no light to illuminate the dark and haunted path. Defeated, Stingy Jack hollowed out a turnip and nestled his spark of hellfire safely inside to form a crude lantern. Some time after his death, farmers and peasants claimed to see the ghostly glow of an unnatural flame traveling aimlessly down the paths and roads of backwoods. Travelers on the road who were unfortunate enough to meet with Jack of the Lantern, as he had come to be called, often found themselves tricked out of their lives and occasionally their souls by the devious, vengeful specter. As generations passed, people came to avoid Jack’s haunts, and his tale passed into legend. Jack of the Lantern became Jack O’Lantern, a slightly mocking sobriquet meant to reflect familial allegiance (O’Leary, O’Keefe, and ECT). In rural Ireland people still believe that on a clear night one can still see the eerie incandescence of Jack’s lantern glowing in the blackness. Travelers are warned that should they see a strange light appear on a narrow back road they should turn the other way for no one wants to meet with Jack. Infamous as the man scorned by the Devil, the Irish feared him, and never more then on Halloween, when the fog that separated the dead from the living thinned and Jack could wander free from his usual path right up to the doorsteps of innocent families. He would appear in the guise of an old man, or perhaps a scrappy looking animal, and more than twice as a shiny silver coin on the stoop. For protection, villagers began to carve turnips and place inside a candle, to be set outside their doors on Halloween night. The horrific visage carved upon these crude lanterns is intended to remind Jack of his penance, and thus deter him from continuing his mischief. Others say that the glinting glowing smile reminds Jack of the Devil’s unwholesome grimace and forces him to flee. Regardless, each Halloween the jack-o-lantern is carved and placed in the window or on the porch, and Stingy Jack remains cursed to wander the Earth unwelcome in Heaven and unable to enter Hell, never to meet his final rest.
Stingy Jack
The traditional carving of the jack-o-lantern has its roots in a very dark tale from Irish lore about a man named Stingy Jack, who dared to drink with the devil and gambled his soul on the sharpness of his wits. Jack’s story begins on a dark and cold evening in rural Ireland when the moon was high and yellow. Stingy Jack, as he was called, was a horrid man; a drunkard, a liar, and a miser who took especial delight in separating the dull witted from their belongings. Travelers who had crossed paths with Jack recalled their encounters and it was not long before word of Jack’s ill-repute spread far and wide, falling upon the ears of the Devil himself. The Devil listened with keen interest to the stories about Jack, the man reputed to have a silver tongue to rival the Devil himself. It is not a wise thing to deal with the Devil, and in the Devil’s infinite conceit he was certain he had no rival; not on Earth or in Heaven. It was in this fashion that the Devil resolved to seek out Jack, and lay to rest the tales. One cold evening, with the crisp chill of autumn in the air, Stingy Jack went wandering through the night and on his usual path, he stumbled across a most unusual character. Standing bent and crooked in the road, he saw the devil wearing a mocking grin across his face. Jack called out to the figure and was answered by silence and the glint of the Devil’s gnarled smirk. To Jack it was no surprise to see the Devil, as he knew it was just a mere matter of time before he came to claim Jack’s soul and drag him into hell. Therefore, Jack, believing his final hours were upon him, set his mind to thinking. “Devil,” Stingy Jack called out, “the sight of you surely marks my last night. I’d hoped I might have one last drink… won’t you share a drink with me before we get on our way?” The Devil scratched his chin. He could find no reason to deny Stingy Jack his request so the Devil accepted Jack’s invitation, delighted at the opportunity to see Jack in action. So the two drank that night until both could scarcely hold themselves upright, and just before the sun rose Stingy Jack decided the evening of revelry had come to an end as he unsteadily rose to his feet and turned for home. The Devil stopped Jack before he took a single step. The matter of the evening’s tab was yet unresolved. Jack pleaded poverty with the Devil, insisting that he could not pay the bar keep because he hadn’t a single silver coin to his name. The Devil was unmoved by Jack’s plight and he refused to pay the barkeep since it was indeed Jack who had invited him to drink. Jack eyed the Devil and in conspiratorial tones laid out his suggestion for a happy compromise. The Devil, Jack said, could turn himself into a silver coin and Jack would use that coin to pay the bar keep. Once the barkeep had drifted off to sleep the Devil, could then change back into his true form and leave the slumbering bar tender none the wiser. As Jack explained his plan, the Devil laughed, and happily agreed to Jack’s proposal, transforming himself into a solid silver coin. True to his name and still fearing the Devil had come to take him to Hell, Jack enacted the second segment of his plan. With a smile and a chuckle, he plunged the silver coin into his pocket beside an ornate crucifix. Enraged that Jack had tricked him the Devil attempted to change his form, but found that he could not so long as Jack kept him bound with the crucifix.As Jack merrily skipped for home, he sang a song of how he had tricked the Devil and escaped the clutches of damnation. Some time passed before Jack opted to strike another deal with the Devil in his pocket. Jack promised to free the Devil only, if the Devil promised not to trouble him for a year and swear that should Jack die, he would not claim his soul. The Devil agreed and Jack tossed the coin high into the air where it vanished into nothingness. That year was Stingy Jack’s best, for he knew that he could not suffer in Hell for any of his deeds. In fact, he had such a wonderful time that Jack scarcely noticed the passing of an entire year. One night he went off wondering down his usual path, and again he came across the unusual figure standing in the very spot were he stood the night of their first meeting.The sight of the Devil struck terror in Jack. The year had been spent in a drunken daze and he had not been aware that his contract was about to expire. Jack thought quickly. “I know why you’re here,” Jack called out, “I’d be happy to oblige you if you would only grant a dying man one last request.” The Devil spoke not a word; he simply stood in the moon light and smiled. “Would you climb up that tree and fetch me one of those juicy fruit from the top branches. I would, but I’m just an old man.” For a moment the two stood frozen in the middle of the winding dirt road. Jack did not dare to move until the Devil flashed his grin and nodded to Jack. Happily, the Devil scuttled up the tree trunk and slithered through the branches to the top, where the most tantalizing fruit dangled. With ease, he plucked the ripest, most delicious fruit from the highest limb. His eyes scanned the road and he saw that Jack was nowhere to be seen. Quickly he moved to slip through the branches and down the trunk but the Devil foudn that he could not pass. Upon seeing the Devil’s predicament Jack leapt from the bushes exclaiming that he had carved a cross on the base of the tree! Stingy Jack erupted in wild laughter at the foolishness of the Devil for having been tricked in such a manner yet again. The Devil merely smiled, his eyes leering at Jack from the shadows. “Say Devil, I will release you, but you must promise to trouble me no more for a time of 10 years,” Jack was laughing so hard he could scarcely form the words. “And you must agree that upon my death you will not claim my soul!” The Devil, with his ferocious smile, agreed to Jack’s terms with a bemused chuckle. He would trouble Jack no more, for the time of 10 years, and when Jack died, the Devil would not take his soul to Hell. In life, Jack did not see the Devil again, for he passed away no more then 7 years after he had trapped the Devil in the tree. Drunkenness had lured Jack to an early grave, but when he passed, it is said he died with a small smile at the corners of his mouth. Jack died confident that his place in Heaven was assured, since the Devil had sworn he would not claim him. Heaven, however, would never admit such an unsavory character. Jack’s wicked soul was cast down to Earth, destined never to look upon Heaven again. Bewildered, Jack looked around, and on his usual path he saw a figure proudly displaying his familiar smile. Jack had beaten the Devil, and yet there he was in the middle of the road. The Devil raised his hand forbidding Jack to speak. The Devil’s head drooped with shame, as he confessed that Jack had tricked him and he indeed would not claim his soul, but…not even the Devil himself could match Stingy Jack’s miserly ways and so the Devil offered Jack a gift; a single ember, said to be a spark of Hell’s flames, to light his way through the frigid eternal darkness. With that, the Devil disappeared, and troubled Jack no more. Stingy Jack clutched at the ember burning hot in his spectral palm. The winds blew strong and the ghost flame began to fade. If the spark were to fade, then there would be no light to illuminate the dark and haunted path. Defeated, Stingy Jack hollowed out a turnip and nestled his spark of hellfire safely inside to form a crude lantern. Some time after his death, farmers and peasants claimed to see the ghostly glow of an unnatural flame traveling aimlessly down the paths and roads of backwoods. Travelers on the road who were unfortunate enough to meet with Jack of the Lantern, as he had come to be called, often found themselves tricked out of their lives and occasionally their souls by the devious, vengeful specter. As generations passed, people came to avoid Jack’s haunts, and his tale passed into legend. Jack of the Lantern became Jack O’Lantern, a slightly mocking sobriquet meant to reflect familial allegiance (O’Leary, O’Keefe, and ECT). In rural Ireland people still believe that on a clear night one can still see the eerie incandescence of Jack’s lantern glowing in the blackness. Travelers are warned that should they see a strange light appear on a narrow back road they should turn the other way for no one wants to meet with Jack. Infamous as the man scorned by the Devil, the Irish feared him, and never more then on Halloween, when the fog that separated the dead from the living thinned and Jack could wander free from his usual path right up to the doorsteps of innocent families. He would appear in the guise of an old man, or perhaps a scrappy looking animal, and more than twice as a shiny silver coin on the stoop. For protection, villagers began to carve turnips and place inside a candle, to be set outside their doors on Halloween night. The horrific visage carved upon these crude lanterns is intended to remind Jack of his penance, and thus deter him from continuing his mischief. Others say that the glinting glowing smile reminds Jack of the Devil’s unwholesome grimace and forces him to flee. Regardless, each Halloween the jack-o-lantern is carved and placed in the window or on the porch, and Stingy Jack remains cursed to wander the Earth unwelcome in Heaven and unable to enter Hell, never to meet his final rest.
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